U.S. Airways Flight 1549 splash-landed in the Hudson River after a flock of Canada geese took out both engines. I'm sure you remember the story: The captain of that flight, Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, did everything exactly right. Blind in one eye, able to move only his left pinkie finger, he deftly guided the engine-less Airbus between the stanchions of the George Washington Bridge, around dangerous ice floes and looming ships, and onward to a picture-perfect water landing. "I was building a house of cards on my tray table," said one passenger. "The touchdown was so smooth that it didn't even wiggle."
After carrying each person to shore on his back, one at a time, Sully clambered up onto the West Side Highway and, dripping with icy water, walked barefoot across Manhattan handing out small bags of pretzels to orphans. Since then he has received the Medal of Honor, balanced the budget, disarmed North Korea and held mass at St. Peter's.
Sorry. The truth is, I have the utmost respect for Sully. But that's just it: respect. It's not adoration or a false, media-fattened misunderstanding of what he and his crew faced that day. Sully was good, but he was also damn lucky. He was lucky that the bird strike happened when and where it did. In darkness or poor visibility, over the ocean, or in a position beyond gliding distance to the calmly flowing river, the result would have been a catastrophe, and no amount of skill would have made a difference.
I was getting a haircut the other day when Nick the barber asked what I did for a living. As is often the case these days, any talk of piloting automatically turns toward the saga of Sully-in-the-Hudson. "Man, that was something," said Nick. "How did the guy ever land that plane on the water like that?"
Nick wasn't looking for a literal answer, but I gave him one anyway. "Pretty much the same way he's landed 12,000 other times in his career," was my response. "Actually, gliding into the river was probably a lot easier than gliding to an airport," I added. "Sully had the benefit of a 12-mile long runway of water and didn't have to worry about crashing short or running out of room."
There was silence after that, which I took to mean that Nick was either silently impressed by this exquisite new knowledge or was thinking, "What a dickhead."
